


To Lose My Life

by eyemeohmy



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gore, Other, Sappiness, Squick, Violence, robot tears give me life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 12:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4666230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just beyond the door, death waited for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Lose My Life

**Author's Note:**

> Idk if the graphic violence tag is appropriate or not, but whatever. An AU of an AU lol. This was based off a prompt that was probably meant to be 90% less angsty, so maybe happy version later? This is incredibly sappy, I dunno. Unrequited love, never confessed, whatever you want.
> 
> Title is taken from another White Lies song.
> 
> _He said to lose my life or lose my love  
>  That's the nightmare I've been running from  
> So let me hold you in my arms a while  
> I was always careless as a child_

Just beyond the door, death waited for him.

Which actually sounded quite more appealing than living.

Then again, the past few months here... Quark would hardly call it living. "Surviving" was a much better term. Every single day--all sixty-four one of them--was an attempt to stay alive. When he wasn't rotting away in his cell, he was either being mentally probed for information (there were downsides to being a fairly intelligent genius-level scientist) or tortured physically by his captors.

Quark thought that time would eventually numb him from the pain, but... Funny how that never worked out. What sort of asshole would romanticize that notion? Say "you'll learn to deal over time"? “You'll get used to the pain.” Quark would have spit in their face if he'd met them; told them they were a liar who had no idea what they were talking about.

Everyday hurt. Everyday ached. Neither time nor routine could stop the pain. But maybe he was weak--that's what the Decepticons thought. What purpose did someone with his build, with his alt mode, serve? He was useless. He wasn't a fighter. He still didn't know how to fire a gun properly. War wasn't in his instruction manual; it wasn't a part of him. Just like it hadn't been for many of his type and thensome.

But you adapt. You transform. The bitter irony in that. Quark didn't know who he hated more these days--his tormentors or himself. Oh, he tried, he really did. He tried so hard to fight, to do the right thing, to swim with the rising tides. But in the end, Quark's fears became reality--he was only alive this long because they still needed him.

At least, until a few days ago.

They'd dug through his databanks and dragged their dirty fingers through his brain more times than he could count. He stopped counting, actually. To mentally cripple him would be all too merciful; they needed his processors in one piece. Quark's body, however, could suffer; parts could be lost, could be removed, torn off, broken, bruised, so long as they kept his mind intact.

Now, however--they had no more use for him. He served his purpose. And while they had stopped destroying his mind, they were still allowed to destroy his body.

Now even more so. There was no reason to hold back. But they did; it was such a surprise, he almost laughed. They had actually been holding back. Only because this wasn't how he was going to die.

So here he was, now, waiting for when he would finally meet his end.

Armor and plating had been peeled and torn away, most of his accessories long since destroyed. Quark looked thinner now, almost emaciated; his once pristine white and silver color scheme was now dull, left in only a few patches on his shoulder, hip, and ankle. He was gun-metal gray, stripped down to his bare protoform colors; old fuel and energon stains that smelled crude and made him dizzy. Frayed circuits dangled and stuck out of seams; tears and deep wounds shown actuators and internal machinery.

A total of three fingers were missing from his hands, bound behind him in stasis cuffs that cut into his wrists and severed a few peripheral circuits bleeding oil. A chunk of plating was missing from his head, exposing mesh and cables; both lenses had been shattered long ago, until every piece of glass had fallen away. His glasses suffered the same fate, his vision having gotten worse over time in this death camp.

Quark's face was smudged in energon--fresh energon, mostly--left cheek dented and swollen. The glow had left his blue optics, dermal plating around the sockets melted and torn away so his eyes sunk into deeper pits. One was badly cracked; it had been flickering for ten minutes straight, struggling to stay online.

Not that it mattered. This small, cramped closet was completely dark. There was no window, not even a slit beneath the door for light to filter in. He didn't even know where the door was. It smelled awful in here, and it took all his remaining strength not to vomit. He knew the stench well--more energon and spilled fluids, some of which was still remotely fresh, leaving him sitting in puddles of congealed blobs and chunks of... something.

Quark didn't care, honestly, because he knew once that door opened again, death would be there to greet him. It would be nice if death were kind. It would be nice if death were merciful. But these concepts were silly dreams here. There was no hoping for anything. Having hope here was a joke. And yet Quark still felt it. He had hoped for salvation--before, to be rescued and taken away from this place. Now, to finally end his pain and die.

That was still hope, right?

 _No, no_ , Quark thought, and smiled, _that's madness_. He smirked. And then he chuckled, and now he was laughing. Laughing so loud it hurt every inch of his ruined chassis. "How could you get the two confused? What, are you an idiot?" Quark cackled, his shoulders shaking, and it was so hilarious. Everything was hilarious. The laughing turned into full on sobbing and bawling in between heaving weakly, his tanks cramped and his engine sputtering. Tears he didn't think he had left in his drained, starved body fell freely down his cheeks.

But it was still funny.

Quark gasped, recoiling back against the wall as the door suddenly opened. He turned his head away, optics squeezing shut before the bright light could blind him. His ragged body went tense, tattered fingers clenching into fists against his back.

Quark forced himself to crack his good optic, look back. Two dark figures--shadows against the white light--stood in the doorway.

This was it.

"He's a little worse for wear, but as you can see, mostly still in one piece," the smaller shadow said, and Quark recognized him as one of the guards. The guard responsible for his missing pinkie and broken optic. He gestured at Quark, grinning smugly, his red gaze still trained on the second shadow. "We took him out of the box and played with him a little, sorry."

"How long has he been in this condition?"

The second shadow--it was... the voice... Quark knew it, too, but it wasn't from anyone here. Neither Decepticon or prisoner, but he knew that voice. They rang like distant church bells in his audiols. Something inside of him stirred--not hope, it couldn't be hope, he made that mistake before--and he slowly turned his head to meet the pair of yellow optics staring down at him. They had such intensity, such emotion; rage, and... sorrow?

"Eh, does it matter? He's still alive," the Decepticon replied. "Hey," he snapped at Quark, but Quark was still staring at those yellow eyes, confused and light-headed and why were they so sad? "Get up. You're leavin'."

Quark didn't listen. He wasn't even sure the Decepticon was in the same room anymore.

"Hey!" the Decepticon snarled. He shook his hand, a baton unfolding. "I said, get up!" He stomped over, slamming his baton across Quark's back. Quark gasped, falling forward and face first in the dirty, wet ground. The Decepticon raised the stick to strike him again. "You ungrateful little--"

Quark went tense as the Decepticon suddenly gasped, the baton dropping to the ground beside him. He looked up; the yellow-eyed figure had suddenly grabbed him by the wrist, squeezing it tight. 

"Touch him again," Yellow Optics growled, "and I'll kill you."

The Decepticon looked shocked. "He's already damaged goo--ayy!" And Quark could hear something in the guard’s wrist snap. "Fine! Primus! Let me go!"

Yellow Optics took a moment, made sure his threat really sunk in, before shoving the Decepticon away. Quark was too afraid to raise his head, too afraid to look up as the unknown mech slowly knelt before him.

"Come on."

Hands took him by an arm, and they were so surprisingly gentle and careful, Quark was terrified. Nonetheless, he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, though he couldn't stand straight in his condition. The recent blow to his back hadn't helped.

Quark glanced at the fingers around his upper arm, weary optics slowly raising. And that's when he met his face--a face he knew all too well, from a time all too long ago.

"Br... Brainstorm...?" Quark whispered in a harsh, dry voice. His optics widened, the damaged one finally giving out with a flicker. He wasn't delusional from pain; this wasn't some hallucination wrought on by the Decepticons playing in his brain.

It was Brainstorm standing in front of him. It was Brainstorm's hand around his arm, holding him up. It was Brainstorm's optics that were so miserable.

"Remove the cuffs," Brainstorm ordered.

Quark's bottom lip trembled. "Brain... Brainstorm...?" The energy signature, that face--it was him, it really was him, but it...

The Decepticon grumbled under his breath as he walked around Quark, punching a code on the cuff's small control panel. The stasis cuffs flickered offline, and once his hands were free, without thinking, without even really knowing what he was doing, Quark took Brainstorm's face in his shaky, bruised and battered hands and pulled him closer, close enough they were face to face.

"Brainstorm? _Brainstorm_!"

"Ease up!" the Decepticon growled, forcefully tugging Quark back, only for a fist to connect with his jaw a second later. The Decepticon tumbled against the wall. "What the Hell is your prob--"

Brainstorm practically shoved his maskplate in the Decepticon's face, its purple insignia almost glowing in the pale light outside. "I paid a high price for this prisoner, and I've got friends in much higher places," he snarled, "so if you touch him again, I'll see to it you'll take his place in the grinder!"

The Decepticon swallowed.

Quark watched on in shock, speechless. But as Brainstorm withdrew his maskplate, he caught a glimpse of the Decepticon symbol painted inside. His wide optics flew up to meet Brainstorm's serious gaze, and the shock quickly turned to fury and a new type of pain he hadn't felt in a long time.

Betrayal.

"You're... a Decepticon?" Quark whispered.

Brainstorm said nothing. He slid his maskplate back into place.

"A... Decept... w-why?"

Brainstorm reached for him. "Let's--"

" _Don't_!" Quark snarled and shoved Brainstorm back. The Decepticon guard almost reached for his baton before stopping, remembering the flier's threat. Quark backed away until he was against the wall, chest rising and falling in heaves. "Don't touch me! G-Get out!"

"I don't believe you have a say in any of this, Autobot," Brainstorm said coldly, so completely and utterly emotionally detached it was frightening.

"No!" Quark screamed, and he tried fighting Brainstorm off, tried pushing him away, hitting him, struggling with all his might. But Brainstorm was taller, stronger, and Quark might as well be dead.

"Should I put the cuffs back on him?" the Decepticon guard asked, his tone snide.

Brainstorm looked to the guard, then back at Quark. He could have easily knocked him out, but... He nodded, and Quark gasped, only managing to get a few steps away before the guard was on him, pinning him to the ground and easily forcing his hands behind his back. The cuffs reactivated.

Brainstorm raised a hand; the guard reluctantly stepped aside. Brainstorm carefully took Quark's arm, pulling him to his feet. Quark didn't fight this time--he was too tired, too weak. He started hacking, systems overworked. He went limp in Brainstorm's grip, falling forward to purge on the ground. Nothing but a few strands of black oil, all he could spare.

The Decepticon guard winced, disgusted. Brainstorm, however, was patient. He let Quark finish vomiting, even if nothing came, coughing for a minute straight until his systems finally settled again. Everything was blurry; the world spun, and Quark's exhausted spark fell back into its sluggish pace.

Brainstorm kept a tight hold on his arm as he walked the limping Autobot out of the cell. The Decepticon guard followed closely. Quark kept his head bowed, a thousand thoughts swirling and tumbling in his head until it hurt to think anything at all.

"What do you even want him for?" the Decepticon guard asked when they arrived at Brainstorm's ship. "He's all spent. Might as well put him out of his misery."

Brainstorm glared back at the guard. "And what business is it of yours?" he growled. The Decepticon frowned. "I need his expertise, if you must know."

The Decepticon guard shrugged. "Well, whatever. He's yours now."

Brainstorm helped Quark onto the ship, didn't bother to say goodbye.

\---

As always, eternities passed in minutes.

Brainstorm had left Quark in the medbay without a word. Quark couldn't feel the ship as it started up, taking off. It was quiet, now.

Quark never looked up, head bowed, staring at the ground. He was limp, immobile, his bruised face blank and single functioning optic dull and dim.

A few minutes, an hour, a year--it didn't matter--and Brainstorm returned. The doors shut behind him. For a few seconds, Brainstorm remained standing at the door, staring at Quark from across the medbay.

Quark listened to the approaching footfalls. Brainstorm was standing in front of him now. Neither said a word.

Quark heard Brainstorm speak, say something, but his voice was too quiet. A hand touched his cheek, and instantly Quark jumped, jerking away. He tried to stand, maybe to run, maybe to fight, maybe to collapse and succumb to his wounds. He snarled as Brainstorm wrestled with him, finally shoving him back down on the edge of the med slab.

The stasis cuffs fell to the floor. Quark immediately raised his fists, punching Brainstorm weakly in the face. It was more a slap than anything else. He dug his fingers into shoulder armor, tearing and clawing, and Brainstorm took his face in his hands and he was crying and suddenly, his forehead was pressed to Quark's, and Quark could hear a string of choked, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"s over and over in a pitiful chant.

Quark didn't listen. He tore away paint, all he could do, but the hands on his cheeks shook as they held him, and the warmth of Brainstorm's energy signature overwhelming his, and those truly, miserable apologies--Quark sobbed, and stopped fighting, now squeezing Brainstorm's shoulders and pulling him closer.

"You're a Dece--Decepticon," Quark hiccuped around his bawling.

Brainstorm yanked off his maskplate, tossing it across the medbay. "Look at me," he said, and he held up Quark's face, forcing him to meet his gaze, " _look at me_."

And Quark looked at him; really looked at him, just like the first time. Bright, sorrowful optics crying coolant cutting down his cheeks, spilling into the edges of his mouth formed into a tight frown and grit teeth, and Quark's spark suddenly felt so very light and so very relieved--

"Brainstorm," Quark cried, and wrapped his arms tightly around Brainstorm, holding onto him for dear life.

Brainstorm returned the embrace, minding the Autobot's weakened state. He sat Quark back, wiping away tears from his face with his thumbs. He smiled widely, optics squinting, and it was amazing, just how happy he looked compared to the utter misery from seconds ago.

"It's okay, now. You're okay now," Brainstorm swallowed, and kissed the empty lens on Quark’s forehead. "It's over. It's all over now. And I'm not going anywhere--not this time."

**Author's Note:**

> _And there's a part of me that still believes  
>  My soul will soar above the trees  
> But a desperate fear flows through my blood  
> That a dead love's buried beneath the mud_


End file.
